LETTER 8

Miss March—

Something is very wrong.

I’m not quite sure where to begin. I had to do something relatively extreme to handle the problem, and I fear that this had only put an archer’s mark behind my back—more vividly than ever before.

I’m writing this from Constantius instead of the Mansion as usual … should I start from there? No, maybe not. I’ll begin with the problem instead.

Slaves are dying.

… maybe I phrased that wrong. Slaves die every day, and I think our kingdom is large enough for countless people to die nearly on the daily, on average. Let me rephrase that.

Important slaves are dying.

How do we have so-called important slaves, you might ask?

It all began with the indenture system.

The indenture allowed not only the common folk, not only the nobles, but also the slaves themselves to realize that they could be more than … well, slaves. The realization that they could be more, that they could be treated as human beings, was the most important aspect of the policy. Many of the slaves did not attempt anything because they resigned to the fact that they had been enslaved, that there would be nothing here onwards but a seemingly infinite path from which there’s no escape: they would have to serve as objects, as numerical manpower, until their period was considered completed or their debts repaid, had they begun life as slaves due to those factors.

For those who were forcefully enslaved for factors beyond economical, their future outlook would have been significantly worse. There’s no running from their capture. The moment they were sold into slavery, that was it. Prisoners of war could at least be renegotiated by their country of origin—but what about subjugated slaves? They had no home to return to, as the mercenaries would have razed them to the ground; no family to run to, as they’d have been captured with them the first time; they had neither a past to come back to nor any future to look forward to.

Only pain persisted in their memory, and only further pain awaited up ahead.

The indenture allowed that to change.

For once, like it or not, their masters had to treat them well—better than the usual, of course, but by a remarkably higher standard, too. Many were confused at first, being so used to having been denied the little luxuries in life such as the time to play with their own children or to receive pay that could fulfill their secondary needs.

“Are we really allowed this?” they first asked.

“Yes,” their masters first answered. “In fact, we are demanded to provide at least this much.”

The indenture allowed many slaves to rest more peacefully at night, to make time for after they toil, to make talks beyond the usual pleasantries with their fellows. The indenture allowed them to view their lives going forward.

The indenture allowed them to realize things they never did before.

As consequence, the indenture allowed them to opine.

Although the indenture did not guarantee them the right to speak—as that is a right reserved only for the free man—many of them began whispering, talking, discussing, even if they had to keep that a secret from some of the less pleasant masters who only saw the indenture as a thorn on their sides.

And, with increasing discussion, there rose leaders of opinion.

Even I only found this out after I sent my ninja scouts up to the slave quarters to report how life looks like in the duchy.

(Oh, yes. Sir Tanaka insisted that I be protected, at least by my own tiny, slimmed down ninja squadron for protection, even as I return to my own hometown—because the situation regarding slavery policies is currently spearheaded by Constantius, making me a particularly desirable target for various forms of opposition.)

These leaders of opinion would lead discussions, teach slaves things they were never taught—from language, writing, arithmetic—and are therefore (usually) slaves from a more educated background. They could often draw attention due to the way they speak. They had charisma. They knew how to move crowds of people, except that they previously never really had the chance because former slave overseers were usually based on obedience towards the master. The more obedient and the stronger the slaves, the likelier they would be to be promoted to oversee the other slaves. As a result, overseers used to be sadistic, opportunistic slaves who would take any chance they got to secure themselves a safe position, usually at the expense of the other slaves.

These opinion leaders were different. They nearly never use any sort of force—only conversation. They didn’t use violence or a show of power to get their points across. They influenced. They smiled, letting their fellow slaves’ guards down, and talked to the level of their partners. They would make the slaves feel heard.

In this changing world, feeling heard is very important. And these leaders mastered that art.

I believe they’re the type to only appear suddenly as they bloomed when their environment would allow them to. I find this sort of people a lot in the military, amongst our ranks, lightly and ever so gently bending the policies I made for their superiors. They are dangerous enemies to have, because their presence lulls anyone they could influence, even their enemies, and nobody could tell when they would strike.

However, as dangerous as they could be, they also make for very formidable allies. They would make sure that you have no obstacles standing in your way. They would clean up the path, so to speak, so that your run to the goal would be unhindered for the most part.

It was the reason my father never seemed to dislike this kind of person, and I try to follow in his footsteps. I couldn’t foster their ingenuities because it would come a little too close to inciting possibly treasonous action, but I decided to let them be—at least to the discretion of their respective masters.

For a while, that was the status quo. Some slaves would rise above the rest, holding a sway over how the slaves think and feel, how the slaves viewed the world, and how the slaves would act at any given time—some charismatic, experienced people who could give the slaves all the answers they needed to reaffirm the fact that they were alive and human.

And then, one day, it suddenly began to change.

I heard reports of slave deaths.

It began with the opinion leader who was tagged as ‘the big slave of the Argentia household’. He was known by many names, but he was most often referred to as Samson by the subjugated tribal slaves or Aeos by former Heliodorian slaves. He was known to be a very active fighter, using his immense physical strength to perform his tasks or keep other slaves in line. However, he was not feared—he was respected. He treated other slaves gently unless he had to do otherwise, and he never started a fight unless he was provoked.

It was said that he used to murder a large, fanged beast by tearing its jaws in half. Another recount said he killed the beast using the jawbone of a burdenbeast. I have no way to confirm the veracity of either statement, but it’s generally accepted that he had his fair share of combat-related difficulties before he became a slave due to his powerful physique.

That man, somehow, died one night: his body was cut open from the belly up, as if his opponent cleaved him with a large blade with an upwards strike that should not have been possible for a mere man.

There was panic.

Samson was a very dearly beloved slave in the community, and not only was he mysteriously killed, his body was left sprawled in the open as if he was but a beast and his corpse no better than a carcass.

I found those circumstances odd, but it became only weirder still after that.

Within one week, another opinion leader died: the scrawny smooth-talker Renatus, who talked his way out of death penalty before being sold into slavery. Like Samson, his corpse was left in full display out on the crossroads so that anyone who woke up early enough would see him left there dying, desecrated like an animal.

The barbaric murders continued. The slaves’ panic began transforming into confusion, and I couldn’t help but be confused by the state that the bodies were left in.

It was as if the murderer wanted everyone to see their heroes trampled and destroyed.

This is no mere string of murders, I surmised. This is a message.

I sent for my allies in other duchies and marches to reach out to me regarding the lives of their slaves. It took a fair amount of time, but as their replies began flying in with their messenger birds, the picture became clear to me: something is happening in the entire Kingdom.

Lenamontis was changing, and it’s not done changing—the mask it has just taken up might be its most frightful yet.

Important slaves were dying everywhere in the Kingdom.

Almost simultaneously, the month that followed was nothing short of harrowing. Even as we neared the one-year anniversary of the death of the Demon King, as the worst of winter had passed to make way for the thawing of the blades of grass, as we began to let our supplies run just the tiniest bit thinner because we expected merchants to continue their trade, there was a ghost hanging in the air that nobody could seem to address.

Less than two months away from the anniversary of the Demon King’s defeat, all I felt in the air was tension so sharp a simple walk outside could cut through my skin.

On one hand, I felt like we should really be festive—at least, as a noble myself, that’s how I saw it. The deaths of the important slaves began happening after Rex Lenamontis passed a bill that forced all dukedoms to comply with the request of slaveowning dukedoms to return their escaped slaves. Apparently, the indenture that I proposed caused such a strong envy among the slaves that many would leave their territories just to be able to reach indenture in territories that allowed them, regardless of their origins.

This caused a massive escapade, an exodus of slaves from slaveowning territories to indentured territories.

This not only severely weakened the slaveowners’ control of their own territory, but also stupefied their production almost instantly. Although, in my defense, it could have just been the winter, but the slaveowners weren’t taking any chances. They appealed with this reasoning to Rex Lenamontis, who knew He had to pacify them somehow so that they don’t secede from Lenamontis, and the slave returnment bill was passed.

That was the original beginning of the tension. I could even feel it in a place as slave-friendly as Constantius—that our slaves did not take the bill very kindly. In fact, I heard of a few small clashes between previously close slaves and masters due to this bill: the master had the legal obligation to follow the bill lest he be severely punished, while the slave was not going to betray his own brother of the same struggle.

The masters had to return escaped slaves, while the slaves wished to protect them.

I could only watch at a loss as the situation unfolded before my very eyes.

These deaths came at an opportune moment. Although the plans were vague, I did hear rumors about an increasing concentration of slaves in certain agricultural areas—entirely unrelated slaves who weren’t stationed near there. Their masters, supposedly, rejected the notion that they’ve ever assigned slaves in those places.

So who were they?

Just a single glance was enough for me to tell that they were planning something big, something grand, something that required talking with slaves apart from each slave’s own respective group; and the deaths of the opinion leaders broke this plan on its knees.

On one hand, I felt like we should really be festive—at least, as a noble myself, that’s how I saw it. Whatever danger was coming, the mysterious deaths had managed to prevent that.

However, on the other hand, this came at the cost of not only numerous lives, the very lives I was supposed to save … but also at the trust that we’ve been building, all this time.

Constantius was such a great hub for mankind. It was a melting pot, so to speak, where people of various stations in life could virtually live together under mostly the same rules. Although this was mainly due to the demonic invasion constantly looming over us all, reminding us that we were all the same humans in the same struggle, even the end of the invasion did not erase the bonds that were made in the meantime.

And this very unified Constantius almost completely fractured because of this.

The deaths only intensified this fracture, not fix it.

Gone were the cheers of the first night of indenture, the brotherhood of the frontlines, the laughter and greetings of the rearline keepers. All that remained were agitated slaves and confused slaveowners. Worse yet, even the Plebeians who weren’t slaveowners began to feel like they had to choose sides—those who were closer to some nobles decided to help with captures, probably expecting solidarity or rewards, while those who were closer to the slaves helped the slaves hide. When I sent my ninja protection detail to gather information on public sentiment, it seemed like the popular opinion was that not taking a side would make them seem worse-off, enough that their friends from either side would see them as people without principle.

“It’s a matter of legality,” a Plebeian who helped with the capture said. “The indenture was such a powerful policy because it made legal something that should’ve been common sense. Make it legal, give it power. These escapades aren’t legal. We’re just being law-abiding citizens!”

“But what are laws in the face of decency?” a sympathetic Plebeian said. “What happened to the days we saw our fellow men in the frontline, regardless of what they are elsewhere, and realize that they’re a fellow human being who deserved to be treated with at least that much dignity? What happened to the days we saw our fellow men in trouble, fearing for their lives, and acted to help them, rescue them, save them regardless of their circumstance?”

Laws are made by men, they argued, and simply put into words something that should be sensible without. I’ve learned enough to know that it was not so simple, but in terms of the spirit of the statement, they weren’t particularly wrong. Laws put into words something that should be sensible without—so what happens when our laws go against these sensibilities?

Suzuki actually visited me once with his ability to appear in places instantly … what did he call it, Teleport? He just appeared there in my office during my work hours, and while I was busy that day surveying the town undercover, I returned to him sipping his served cup of tea.

“Suzuki!” I exclaimed. “What happened? Why are you here?”

He looked sheepish at the question, to my own surprise. “I just wanted to see you. We haven’t really talked much since you became the Right Hand, and even now you have to go to Constantius to deal with things I probably can’t even understand … I wish I could help you.”

It was probably the tension in the air, the feeling of my beloved city changing, or the burden of navigating it all, but I bit my lip as I nodded at my butler to close the door to my study. My butler complied, leaving the room to just me and Suzuki, and I just lost whatever footing I had left.

I hurled myself upon the man, hugging him with all the strength I could muster, and cried into his shoulder.

How is it so hard to just create a more equal world, I wonder? Suzuki’s dream was a very simple one, and he always spoke of it in such a natural manner that I couldn’t help but think the same. We want our fellow humans to be equal with us. We want to be in their reach and want them to be in our reach, so that when they need a shoulder to rely on, we can provide. We want to give them a pat in the back because they’d push us forward just the same.

How is it so hard just to create a more equal world?

Truly, how hard could it be for us to just love each other?

I didn’t realize how long I cried into his shoulder, because the next thing I knew I was lying on his lap, still sobbing, and the skies outside were already dark. He just gently stroked my hair without saying a word.

“Suzuki,” I said, wiping tears off my eyes, “how did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Draw your sword at the Demon King.” I turned to face him. The lights on the ceiling cast shadows over his face, but I could see his serene expression just fine. “How did you find the courage?”

I knew Suzuki was scared. Oh, I knew that too well. Right out there, on the tall walls that separated Constantius from the Darklands, on the final fortress that marked the territory of mankind, as the sun set before he departed for his final mission with only a select few of his compatriots for the fateful battle, he was with me. His legs couldn’t stop shaking, and I could feel his hastening heartbeat from the tips of his fingers, as we held hands, as we intertwined, and hugged, and shared our first kiss. He wavered as he told me his promise to come back alive. He quivered as I shed a tear, wishing him a safe and fruitful journey, confessing my love for him for the first time.

He was afraid. He did not gallantly march against the Demon King with the courage of a thousand men like the songs made him out to be. He was terrified out of his mind, and he did not stop shaking even as he got onto his burdenbeast and entered the Darklands.

However, still, he marched on.

Still, he ended the War.

Suzuki thought for a moment. “I like to believe that I didn’t,” he finally said, still patting my head.

“You didn’t?”

“Nope. Never did,” he said. “I was still scared when I finally arrived at the Demon King’s Court. I was still scared when he drew his sword to battle me. I was even still scared after I defeated him. It didn’t feel real, not even after I’ve returned, after people began celebrating….”

His voice trailed off. I touched his hand on my head, and he smiled.

“I think I was simply more afraid of losing you,” he continued, blushing a little.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Sure, the Demon King was scary, but it was so much scarier for me to imagine a world without you. I don’t know how I’d keep on living if you weren’t here.”

“Me and everyone, you mean?” I teased. He awkwardly scratched his head.

“Well … yeah….”

I chuckled a little, burying my face into his thighs to hide the reddish hotness I felt on my face. “That’s alright. I love them, too.”

He continued patting my head, and I let his words sink a little deeper.

The Demon King was scary, but it was so much scarier for me to imagine a world without you.

He didn’t choose to be brave. He couldn’t. He simply realized that there was something he had to do so that things didn’t turn out for the worse. It was something that for a thousand years was considered an impossible feat, something the races had tried countless times to no avail, something even the Goddess Herself had to intervene with, and all of that rested on his shoulders … but he had to do it nonetheless. So he did.

I think I was simply more afraid of losing you.

I almost hit myself on the head. It’s so simple. How could I miss something so obvious?

He simply realized that there was something he had to do.

It was something that, for a thousand years, was considered an impossible feat….

… but he had to do it nonetheless.

So he did.

Suzuki offered to instantly take me back to the Mansion that night, just in case I wanted to sleep on my bed in the Mansion—he could send me back here by the morning—but I gently refused. I came here on Constantius business. The least I could do was to always be here for whoever needed me here, right?

As the morning came around, I began work immediately, and I gave my legal advisors the most extreme solution possible. Their jaws were hanging by the time I was done explaining what I wanted to do, and it took them almost half an hour to come up with something viable that could be passed. Afterwards, we spent the entire day working on the roughest draft of the bill based on the circumstances, and as the day ended, I was ready to head back. I began my journey back to the Capitol the next morning, realizing that I would probably give Rex Lenamontis a massive headache with my proposal.

But, hey, He was the one who first decided to give me so much headache when He appointed me as Manus Dextra, wasn’t He? I was only returning the favor.

As predicted, Rex Lenamontis nearly flat-out refused my proposal. I had to spend three days going back-and-forth from the Mansion to the Castle, first thing in the morning and interrupted only by the times He had to perform His other duties as the King, until I finally nagged Him enough to wear Him down.

“Treat Constantius as a trial case!” I said, exasperatedly. “Please, Your Highness. I’m begging You at this point. Just like with the indenture—Constantius will be the experimental grounds. We’ll see where we’ll go from there!”

“You do know that you won’t just be a trial case, yes?” He warned me. “Constantius will not be an experiment, it will be a precedent.”

“You can refuse every other request after mine!” I insisted. “That would be unfair, that would be against everything I’m trying to stand for, but if that’s what it takes—please!”

Rex Lenamontis groaned. “And what excuse do I give them?”

“Lacking long-term data? Kingdom policy? Constantius is being treated as trial ground and we’re still expecting results? We can navigate this. You can even say that there are possible hints of failure in Constantius if You really want to discourage them. But please let us have this.”

He was gritting His teeth when He gave His signature and the Royal Mark on the bills I proposed.

With that, I returned to Constantius in the greatest haste.

“Mister Ventus!” I called for my head adjutant the moment I entered Constantius Mansion. The person appeared on cue, and I passed the bills to him. “Announce this to the entire duchy, posthaste, and make it clear—from this day forth, the Duchy of Constantius outlaws the owning of slaves!”

His eyes widened. “Milady, does this mean—?”

“Yes, Ventus.” I took a deep breath. “We are abolishing slavery, starting today.”

Miss March, is my decision the correct one? Not even the experienced Mister Ventus expected Rex Lenamontis to agree with my proposal, and as I mentioned—I feel like this would only paint a very vivid archer’s mark on my back.

Please wish me well. And, above all else, please wish the people well.

The times are tumultuous, and we can really use all the prayers we can get right now.

With hope abreast,
Charlotte Valeria de Constantia,
Ducal House Constantius, Kingdom of Lenamontis.

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